


three a.m.

by transpeterp



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Irondad, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Relationship Abuse, adopted parents Tony and Pepper, don't hate on may, honestly we stan, i cut may out which is horrible and im sorry i didn't mean to i just had to, mental and physical abuse, not graphic, she deserves everything just isn't in this, tagged non-con because of abuse plot line
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 02:52:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17014218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transpeterp/pseuds/transpeterp
Summary: as peter ran from his small apartment towards the avengers tower with bruises on his face and arms, all he could think about was how he was going to get into the building without tony knowing.





	three a.m.

As the converse, mildly good condition, pounded against the pavement, only two things ran through twenty-something year old Peter Parker’s mind—how Tony was going to react to him showing up on his doorstep at three in the morning, and if he could actually run all the way to the tower without getting kidnapped.

Of course, the most pressing matter would be the latter, but Peter couldn’t help but focus on the former. Maybe to distract himself from his heart jumping at the sign of every other person on the street, or maybe because that was a genuine fear of his.

Could he come up with an excuse for this? For why he was half crying, covered in bruises, and out of breath as he pleaded with Friday to let him in silently?

One block. Then two. His apartment, the one he moved into just a month ago, was fourteen blocks from The Avengers tower. His dad, adopted dad, would most likely still be up. Three was early for him. It used to be early for Peter, too, but now three a.m. seemed impossibly late, especially to be out on the street, all alone. It was less impossible when he was in the safety of his dad’s lab, or on the couch watching reruns or random old movies Tony would go on and on about the first time he watched them. Three a.m. was the impossible time of non-stop laughter, of covering yawns as they stayed up to watch meteors from the roof of the upstate complex.

Three a.m. was a time reserved solely for happy, careless memories Peter held dearly from his very odd childhood. The rides on the Quinjet when the Avengers were needed across the world and Peter got to tag along. Opening Christmas presents at the impossible hour because Peter never slept enough on Christmas to make it to daylight. Presents would be opened at three in the morning, then Peter, Tony, and Pepper would cuddle together in Tony and Pepper’s bed, sleeping warm and happily until Tony snuck out of bed to get breakfast for them (or quickly hurry downstairs to get the food from UberEats). 

Three a.m. for twenty two year old Peter should be deadlines. It should be him listening to his “chill” spotify playlist (four thousand followers) and tiredly typing word after word until he had a decent enough rough draft to quickly edit the next morning before submitting, minutes before his deadline.

 Three a.m. should be the metaphorical witching hour. Where couples had their most intimate time, where teens finished their cramming, where innocent babies whined for their parents, or oblivious families slept.

Five blocks down. Eight more.

Peter wondered if Pepper was awake in Los Angeles. He could just turn around, and whip out his phone, calling her. She would know what to do, most likely more than Tony will know. It was only midnight there, she was probably on her way back from some company dinner or gala or something like that. Or he could call Harley. Harley was probably still awake.

The thought of galas made Peter shiver. He didn’t have a jacket on. It was November, for god's sake. He was freezing.

Six. Seven more.

Peter remembered when he was eight years old and got to tag along on a business trip with Pepper. They traveled to Japan. Peter wasn’t supposed to go, but Tony got pneumonia, and usually when a conflict like that came up the couple was quick to jump to get Steve or Rhodey to watch Peter, but both were busy those few days.

When they got to Japan, it took them hours finally got settled into their adorably snug hotel room, white walls, white sheets, primarily white paintings with some greys. A very minimalist room. Peter wanted to call Tony and tell him (because he wanted Tony to feel less alone, all the way in New York), but Pepper explained that while it was only five in Japan, it was three a.m. in New York. Peter found that to be the weirdest thing in the entire world. The entire trip, he kept asking what time it was in New York, just because he wanted to know if it was a time when Tony was awake or asleep.

Peter loved his dad. So much.

Fighting was normal. Actually, fighting was expected in their house. Tony’s sarcasm and witty responses to almost everything rubbed off on his son, and soon sassing matches were a normality. Peter wasn’t an easy child, and he didn’t even try to help make it easier.

But, it was always normal fighting. Peter wanting to go to the movies with Ned or Harley, Tony saying no (for good reason; Peter was often stalked when he was a teenager, due to his dad being _The Tony Stark_ ). Peter wanting a dog. Peter wanting a later curfew. Tony wanting Peter to do the dishes, to take the trash out, to actually be on time when Happy showed up every morning to pick him up for school. If the fight happened in the morning, by the time Peter got home from school the fight was long gone from either of their minds. They moved onto more important things. If it happened in the afternoon, both boys took five minutes to calm down before Tony would find Peter, hug him, and they would move on.

Peter was loved. He knew that. He _felt_ that.

Seven. Six more.

Anything Peter passed became a blur. He only slowed slightly as he approached streets, but there were barely any cars out at this time. Peter barely stopped for any car, as there weren’t any to stop to. The neon signs from stores shone in his eyes, causing a headache to form. He passed a group of drunk girls who waved at him flirtatiously, giggling, and not-so-whispering to their friends, “He is really cute!”.

Peter pushed his glasses up his nose, then, when they slid down to the same spot with the force from his hard running, he ripped them off, clutching them in his hand tightly.

When Peter was five, a year after he was adopted, he remembered being fitted for his first pair of glasses. They were wire-rimmed, possibly green, Peter couldn’t remember. He remembered the nice lady at the optometrist fit them to his face, he didn’t even glance in the mirror, and instead looked to Tony for his opinion, who told him he looked “super duper handsome”. Peter was sold on glasses. He had contacts, but rarely wore them.

He had ripped them out of his eyes just earlier that night, half an hour before. He hated them. He hated _him._

Eight. Five more.

His footsteps were in a solid rhythm, his breathing a bit jagged but for the most part regular when his phone rang. He slowed, and fished it out of his back pocket (Thank God he got it from his dresser before he had taken off).

Pepper Potts.

Mom.

Peter stared at the phone screen, finger hovering over the green button, but couldn’t bring himself to press it. His breathing, harsh and heavy for just running eight blocks.

The call went to voicemail.

Peter, standing in the middle of a sidewalk, in the middle of New York, halfway between his broken, scary apartment and his safe, warm home, caught his breath. He stepped to the side numbly when someone walked by. He kept his glance down, on the phone in his hands. He had four percent left, didn’t think to charge.

His breathing became somewhat regulated.

He remembered when his Uncle Steve used to work out at the tower. Peter thought he was the coolest guy when he was a kid, and still firmly stands by that opinion, except his dad was marginally cooler now that it was okay to find your dad cool. Maybe it was always okay for Peter to find Tony cool. He was a billionaire superhero.

His phone rang again. This time, it was Tony.

Dad.

He answered, putting the phone to his ear and breathing out shakily. Not from the run, but from anxiety that had slowly and softly built up suddenly solidifying in a huge lump stuck in his throat, heavy feeling in his chest.

“Peter?” Tony’s voice sounded awake, but a careless awake. He would never talk to press like this. He said he sounded too domestic, but Peter thought he just sounded carefree. He liked slightly tired and carefree Tony more than the suit and press Tony, if he was being honest. “Pete, can you hear me?”

“Yeah, hi,” Peter kept his voice low, and out of the corner of his eye watched a middle aged man saunter down the street, not even a glance in Peter’s direction.

“What’s going on, Peter? Your mom called you and you didn’t answer. My tracking says your phone is halfway between here and your apartment. Is everything okay?”

Peter hesitated. Now that he was halfway to the tower he felt completely stupid for coming. He should just turn back. Go back to his apartment, apologize for running, and everything will be okay.

“Pete?”

He felt hot tears sting his eyes as he looked around him. The street was empty, save for the man still walking away, in the direction of Peter’s apartment. Peter watched him carefully. Jamie wore suits like that.

He couldn’t breathe very well. Maybe that was from the running. Maybe that was from the fact he was probably having a panic attack. God, he was having a panic attack on a random street at three a.m. Great.

“Peter, can you hear me?”

A choked sob escaped his lips, and Peter bit back to urge to whine to Tony. But, of course Tony heard the sob.

“Peter, god. Stay where you are. Sit down on a bench or in a doorway somewhere really close,” Tony said, and Peter nodded.

“Okay,” He said after he realized that Tony couldn’t exactly see him.

“Can you stay on the line with me?” In the background, the whir of the elevator was heard quietly. Peter wondered if Friday was worried. Sure, she was an AI, but Peter considered her his friend.

“Yeah,” Peter whispered, then breathed a few deep breaths as he sat down at a bus stop.

Tony didn’t respond, and Peter noticed he couldn’t hear the elevator.

His phone had died.

 

\----

 

Tony sighed angrily, staring at his now blank phone. Peter hung up. 

Or his phone was dead. He did have a tendency to never charge it until absolutely necessary.

He _hated_ hearing Peter so upset. The jagged breaths, and the one broken sob. Tony could feel his anxiety spiking through the phone waves.

“Friday, can you plug the last location of Pete’s phone into the car?” Tony ran a hand through his hair. He wished Pepper was there. She was good at helping Peter through panic attacks. Tony was… less good. They caused his own anxiety to spike a little, but if need be he can push down his own issues and help his own son through whatever was happening.

As the elevator opened into the small parking garage for the tower, and Tony hurried over to get into his already started car, he thought, and thought hard. Peter had been doing good. Really good, it seemed. He had just moved back to New York, only a few months ago, after graduating from MIT as second Valedictorian. He got a job at some hipster reporter place which he had always read and loved, and got his own apartment. Close enough that he could easily walk the handful of blocks if he needed food or a hug. He even started seeing someone. Some guy named James. Jordan? Jamie?

Tony used to hate the early mornings. Well, that’s a lie. He used to love them. Used to bask in a time where he could be in his childhood bedroom, reading or listening to music with no interruptions from his dad, or fancy dinners to hurry to. Then college came, and gradually he grew to hate the early mornings. As a licensed procrastinator, he grew used to finishing big projects at three in the morning, or arriving home at three from a party with Rhodey only to remember he had class at seven and opting to get no sleep at all to try and finish his work.

It got worse as he took over SI, and only gradually got better once he got Peter.

In fact, it was a three a.m. talk, after he and Pepper had had a fun night, and were laying in bed carelessly talking about their meaningless early marriage life, where Peter really became an idea, or an opportunity, in their mind.

Pepper said something or other about how her doctor trip that morning had went well, and the tests would come back soon. She was stressing about a feeling that she wouldn’t be able to get pregnant. Not that Tony minded at the time; he didn’t want kids so early in their marriage. But Pepper wanted to know, and that little voice in the back of her head was saying she couldn’t and it was worrying her.

“What will we do if I can’t?” Pepper asked, head on Tony’s chest, pre-arc reactor.

“Then we will figure it out. Adopt. Foster. Put Dum-E in a diaper and give him a bottle.”

“Tony, I’m serious. What… What will happen?”

It was odd seeing such a strong woman seem worried over something so little as not being able to have kids.

“I want to have kids, Tones. What if we can’t?”

“Pepper. Giving birth to a baby and having kids are different things. Adoption is always an option for us. And who even knows, the test could come back negative. Or we could do a surrogate. No matter what happens, if you want kids, we are getting kids.”

It was the next day when he was woken up at three a.m. again. His phone was ringing. It was a hospital. One of Tony’s researchers, a close colleague and friend of his from college, Mary, and her husband Richard had been seriously injured in a car crash that afternoon.

As Tony rushed to the hospital in green pajama pants, he could only think about their little baby. The one who he had only met a handful of times, the little four year old, with a hyperactive personality and huge dopey grin that matched his moms.

Tony demanded to see Mary, not only as a friend, but as her boss.

Mary took him close, and made him swear on her own death bed that Tony wouldn’t let anything happen to Peter, or she would come back and haunt him.

She died two days later, and Richard just after.

The day Pepper got the tests back. She couldn’t have children.

It was a month later when he and Pepper sat in a lawyer’s office, signing their names on Peter Parker’s adoption sheet, dubbing the little boy who had stopped bouncing around the room and instead only sat quietly or shifted on his feet Peter Parker-Stark.

Tony peeled out of the tower, glad to find the streets practically deserted. It only took seconds to reach Peter, who was clutching a phone in his hands as he sat at a bus stop.

Tony unlocked the doors and pulled up next to Peter, who quickly rubbed his eyes furiously and scurried over to the car.

As he sat down in the leather seat next to Tony, he kept staring at his feet. Tony stared at him, looking him up and down, and slowly but surely breaking at the sight of his son so broken himself. There were bruises in a ring around his forearm, in what looked to be a hand. It was as if someone was holding his arm so tightly they were now bruised because of it. He had a bruise on his chin, almost cheek, along with a cut across his nose at an awkward angle. That bruise was worse than the hands, though, as it was so dark it was almost black, and covered a good section of the bottom left of his face. There were tear lines streaming down his cheeks, and his hands, which were collapsed in his lap, were shaking feverishly. So was his knee, which was bouncing quickly, jittery and anxious.

“I’m sorry for making you come and ge—”

Peter was cut off by Tony yanking him into a semi-awkward hug across the consol.

“Don’t you fucking dare apologize, Peter Parker-Stark. You have nothing to apologize for.”

“I do, though.”

The words were choked back, as if they physically stung the boy.

Tony remembered his first nightmare, when he was four. His half birthday, about a month after they had officially adopted him.

Tony woke up to the poking of a little hand on his leg. Pepper was in Los Angeles for a meeting, so, for the first time, Tony was alone with Peter for more than a few hours.

And it had been going good. Tony and Peter watched a Disney movie, maybe two. Tony let Peter pick what food they ate, and chose a fancy restaurant they had gone to the week before. Even though Tony was a bit sick of the steakhouse, and could guarantee he could make a better grilled cheese than that place, he put on a suit and helped Peter into khakis and a button down with red dots on it, which was his favorite. They ate, Tony a steak and Peter a grilled cheese, and they walked home, even taking a detour through Central Park. Tony only got stopped once, so all in all a very relaxing and bonding moment for Peter and Tony, the new family.

But, at three a.m., it changed.

Tony blinked a few times in the darkness, and could barely make out the silhouette of Peter in his room, standing sheepishly towards the end of the bed, head not even able to see over the bed, instead just staring upwards.

“Pete?” Tony said, and Peter jumped, as if he expected Tony to just continue sleeping.

He didn’t say anything, and Tony, who was were versed in the art of panic attacks and sobbing, knew one when he saw it.

“Pete, c’mere,” Tony whispered, and Peter slowly walked towards where Tony’s head was. With ease, Tony grabbed Peter and picked him up, pulling him over and into the middle of the bed, simultaneously pushing back the covers and letting the boy, who had silent tears streaming his cheeks, curl into both him and the sheets.

The next morning, Peter explained in a shaky voice that he dreamt his parents were alive and that it felt real. Then, he whispered, “I’m sorry for waking you.”

“Peter, look at me,” The younger Tony said softly, reaching out and making the four-year-old’s chin jut up to him, wide eyes connecting with Tony’s. “You have nothing to be sorry for. Me, Pep, we are here for you. It isn’t going to be easy, and if you ever need anything. A cuddle, a shoulder to cry into, or someone to sleep next to, we are here for you. No matter what, baby. Forever.”

Young Peter, with the chubby cheeks and ridiculous hair, let a watery smile out and hugged Tony tightly.

“Peter Parker, look at me,” Older, present day Tony, said. The Tony that had a few more wrinkles, a few grey hairs, and a fragile heart. The new Tony. The same Tony from all those years ago, yet with a bit more life under his belt. “What happened?”

“C-can we go home, first?”

The car was silent, except for the occasional sniff from Peter and the soft sigh from Tony. Tony couldn’t help but grip the steering wheel with intense harshness and grimace at the empty road in front of them.

The parking garage was the same, and both boys got out, car locking behind them. The clicking echoed in the almost empty garage, and the loud sound made Peter jump. Tony wanted to scream.

The elevator felt cramped, and Tony knew Peter was practically radiating with anxiety. Tony wanted to hug the boy and make all the pain go away as quickly as possible.

They were let out into the living room of the tower. Around them, soft lights from the street below made their way to slightly lighten their faces, and the moon above illuminated them greatly. The bruises on Peter shone.

“Let’s get those bruises taken care of first, Pete. We can talk when that is happening.”

Peter was seven when he was bullied for the first time, or at least Peter was seven the first time Tony heard about it. Peter had come home from school, and had a very light blue bruise forming around his eye. (This would be first of many, many bruises the boy would amass during his life, but Tony didn’t know that yet.)

When Tony, and Pepper, questioned the boy, he finally came clean and admitted that a kid punched him for being a “fag”. Then, Peter asked what fag even meant.

Tony remembered the feeling in his stomach that stayed there the whole night, then the next day. His own son, the boy he had only gotten three years ago yet loved with his whole heart, having to ask Tony what a homophobic slur was because he was called it in school.

Tony marched Peter down to his school the next day (Happy drove them), and sauntered his way into the principal’s office. Despite not having a meeting, he got the principal “at just the right time”, and discussed in a mildly angry tone how awful it was this was happening and how he demanded to speak to whoever’s parents about it.

The parents were called at work, and Tony sat next to Peter as the mom walked in, wearing hospital scrubs and looking annoyed at her son.

The boy apologized to Peter, and even cried. Afterwards, when the boys headed back to class, Tony pulled the woman aside and asked why on Earth her seven year old son knew a term like that, and knew it enough to insult people with it. The mom looked angry, and explained he had older brothers. As if that was an explanation. That having older brothers excuses someone for being a dick. Just another boys have to be boys cliche that was idiotic and never a good philosophy to live by.

Peter went to a different school the next year, then a new one the next, until middle school when he started going to a private science school in Midtown, and refused to switch out of through middle school into the connected high school despite a bit of bullying still happening. It was the first place Peter really had a friend, not counting Harley, whom he only met through Tony, and Tony guessed that was why he toughed it out. It still didn’t stop him from having to bite his lip every time he wrapped an ice pack with a paper towel for his son after a fight with Flash or having to leave the room after watching him write a letter of apology to the principal for “unprofessional behavior” despite Flash starting the fights and Peter just fighting back to keep from being punched into his next life.

Peter, now twenty two and no longer adorning that long-faded bruise from a weak punch of a seven year old, let Tony help him up to sit on the counter of Tony’s master bathroom ensuite. Tony dug for some cooling cream for the bruises, and Neosporin and band aids for the cuts.

He couldn’t find any words as he applied the cooling lotion to his arms and cheek, then the band-aid.

Finally, he eloquently settled on, “What happened. No bullshit, Parker.”

Peter was silent for a moment, then looked up to Tony from his hands, eyes scared and guilty seeming.

 

\--

 

It was midnight when the night went from moderately alright to bad.

Peter, adorned with his contacts, t-shirt advertising MIT, and a zip-up Stark Industries hoodie, stood in the kitchen of someone’s apartment, sipping a diet coke can. He didn’t drink, his dad forbade him from doing so a long time ago, which made sense, with his dad’s past adventures with alcohol and all.

“Hey, you’re Tony Stark’s kid, eh? Ricky said you would be here,” The girl who Peter previously didn’t see in the doorway grinned, and moved forward, jumping up onto the counter in front of Peter, long legs hanging off. She was wearing flowery pants.

“Yeah, I am. Peter,” Peter said, smiling and holding out a free hand. The girl shook it.

“Abby. Nice to meet you, Peter,” She giggled, and glanced suspiciously at the coke can. “Is it true you actually are completely dry? Never had alcohol, like, ever?”

“Yeah, it’s true. Uh, my dad always preached for me to not drink since, you know, he didn’t have a good history with it. I tried it once my first year of college and swore off it immediately. Beer is disgusting.”

“That’s very true. You can develop a taste for it, I guess,” She shrugged, and took a swig from her can of beer.

“I just never saw the appeal, you know? Like, if a drink was that bad, why would you want to develop a taste for it any—”

“Peter! I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

Jamie, wearing a button down and hair immaculately done, came bursting into the kitchen.

“Hey Jamie. This is Abby, a…”

“Friend of Ricky. You friends with Rick or Sammy?”

“Sam. Peter, what are you doing in here all alone?”

“I wasn’t alone,” Peter sighed, looking down at his can. His eye itched a little bit, but he didn’t want to rub it in fear his contact would move to the back of his eye like it did for that one lady who went viral. “I’m talking to Abby.”

“Why? We should be going and talking to people.”

“You’ve been doing that the whole night, Jay. Why do you need me?”

“Because I want you to meet people. People to meet you. Meet us, together,” Jamie said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Peter was planning on breaking up with him. He just didn’t know how, or when. Jamie was constantly jealous, which was reasonable when Peter constantly had press following him, but he was also manipulative and pompous, always trying to show off the fact they were dating. He wasn’t like that the first couple weeks they dated, but just started randomly and Peter couldn’t find an easy exit. But he was going to. Eventually. Now just didn’t seem like the right time.

“Jamie, I’m tired. I kinda just wanted to chill for a bit.”

Apparently, this wasn’t an acceptable answer, as two minutes later Jamie had his arm on Peter’s forearm, fingernails digging into his skin, holding him in place next to him as they talked to other people. Every time Peter tried to step away, Jamie gripped just a little bit tighter.

It hurt.

 

\--

 

“Movie?” Tony asked quietly as they emerged from the bedroom, apartment around them still dim and terrifying, shadows on the walls looming with secrets and hardships. 

“I’m tired. I should go home,” Peter mumbled, fingers brushing along the bandaid unconsciously.

“No way are you going home. You don’t have your car to drive back,” Tony said, and Peter didn’t meet his eyes.

 “I will walk, dad. It’s fine,” Peter whispered, and Tony bit his lip, then released it.

“Peter…” His voice, softer than normal, seemingly too quiet in the too dark room, shook Tony’s own chest, and he could see it did the same to Peter, as he squeezed his eyes shut and refused to look up. “Peter please… look at me.”

“I…” Peter voice broke, word barely escaping his lips, and _that_ was the moment that Tony vowed he was going to do everything in his power to make sure Peter _never_ felt this awful again.

“Your own room hasn’t been touched, Pete. Go get a good nights sleep, and we can go back to your apartment tomorrow.”

Peter nodded, eyes still shut and holding back tears. He hesitated, and almost moved in for a hug, before turning and quickly scurrying up the stairs to his room without a glance back.

Tony sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and went back to his own room. Even though he had been working in the lab, he felt so tired, so worn out, that he collapsed onto his bed, not willing to even go and make sure the tools were all turned off and in a safe place as to not hurt anything if they became sentient.

His phone rang, buzzing in his pocket.

“Hello?” His voice felt raw, but that was the tears he had managed to choke back.

“Hey. What happened? Did you find him?”

Pepper’s voice almost instantly calmed Tony, and he sighed in relief that she was still there, still a support for Tony and Peter in this pressing time.

As Tony explained softly, he kept pausing because he swore he heard Peter’s footsteps. He knew Pepper needed to know, but he felt that he was betraying Peter a bit by telling her without him there.

And a crash from upstairs caused the walls to shake a bit.

“Fri, what’s going on?” Tony dropped the phone from his ear. He heard Pepper ask the same.

“Peter is currently having a panic attack and seemingly destroying his room. He has broken his phone, TV, some statues from his fifth grade art class, knocked down his wall of medals, is currently throwing his lamp against the wall… the lamp is now shattered.”

 

\--

 

The minute Peter shut the door to his old childhood room he let the tears finally flow freely. He tossed his glasses on his nightstand, and the clattered across the surface, falling on the flood between his bed and stand. 

He held his face against one of his old pillows, and sobbed quietly into them.

He was so mad. So scared. So… embarrassed. His dad was IronMan for crying out loud, and he couldn’t pull himself together enough to breakup with Jamie?

He pulled out his phone, hands shaking, and plugged it into his charger by his bed. As it loaded, he stared out the window through tears. He used to love the view. When he was younger, he and his Uncle Bruce would sit at the window when Peter was sick and name constellations. They couldn’t see many because New York was one of the most polluted cities in the history of ever, but they still had fun. He missed those days.

Finally, his phone turned on when Peter ran out of constellations to mumble under his breath, and he leapt towards it, quickly scrolling through his contacts.

“C’mon. C’mon. Please,” He whispered into the receiver as it rang. Harley would know what to do. Harley always knew what to do. He talked Peter through his panic attacks when they were at MIT together, and he was the one who told him that Jamie seemed shady when they first sat on Peter’s bed scrolling through his Instagram before Peter’s date how long ago. Peter needed the support of his best friend since age ten, and though the sad I told you so would be very obnoxiously granted, he wanted his best friend to be able to help him through this. His dad was trying, and Peter loved him for that. But it was impossible to talk to Tony about stuff like that, sometimes. Peter always hated it. Felt like too much of a burden. Maybe it was that adopted child mindset that if Peter made a mistake Tony would send him to an orphanage, despite the fact that Tony couldn’t do that since Peter was twenty two.

“Hey, this is Harley. If you are calling about work, yes I will probably be at work tomorrow, Tony. If you are anyone else, leave a message!”

“H-hey, Har. It’s P-Peter. You knew that. Uh, I… I’m at dad’s right—Tony’s!... Tony’s… right now. I… I need to see you soon, yeah? M-maybe tomorrow if you aren’t busy? Don’t cancel plans because of me, though. I h-hate when you do that. An-anyway, yeah. I’m at Tony’s. Jamie might still be at my apartment tomorrow… I don’t… I don’t know to be honest. We… We… Something happened. But… It-it’s not a huge deal, so don’t worry. A-anyway, see you tomorrow. Maybe. I-I don’t know. It’s okay if you can’t. Bye. Love you. A lot. Sorry for this… This was really weird. Bye.”

Peter ended the call, took a breath. He pressed call again, suddenly feeling a dull nagging in his chest of the rage that was hidden by the sadness emerging quickly and all at once.

“Hey, this is Harley. If you are calling about work, yes I will probably be at work tomorrow, Tony. If you are anyone else, leave a message!”

“You were right Harley. About him. He hit me. A lot. He… He fucking hit me. He fucking punched me and I didn’t do anything to help myself. I couldn’t leave. I told him I wanted to break up, and he blocked the door then I freaked out because of that stupid claustrophobia thing I have then he freaked out and called me a good for nothing freak who didn’t deserve the dad I have and that I should either be more grateful I can even manage to get guys like him to give a second thought to pussy’s like me or jump off a fucking building. Then I tried to leave and he punched me. Harley why didn’t I listen to you? I… I’m so sorry I didn’t listen to you.”

Peter didn’t press end, but the call ended anyway when Peter suddenly saw red and threw the phone as hard as he could against the wall, causing it to crack the wall itself.

Peter didn’t remember anything after that.

 

\--

 

He woke up to the smell of pancakes. He knew that smell. Blueberry pancakes, just like he liked them. 

He didn’t bat an eye to the fact he was in his dad’s room, alone. He sat up, and was hit with a piercing headache. Groaning, he fell back down, turning to the window. The sun was shining on a beautiful day in New York City.

He begrudgingly got out of bed, noticing he was still wearing his jeans from the night before, but was wearing one of Tony’s college sweatshirts. He figured if he already had the sweatshirt then his dad wouldn’t mind him taking his sweatpants too, and Peter pulled on a SI pair, before sighing, wiping his pink nose on the back of his hand, and opening the door.

In the main room of the penthouse were three people—Tony (expected), Harley (not expected this early), and Steve (not expected at all).

They all were doing their own thing. Steve was reading the paper with reading glasses (he was like a hundred for crying out loud), Tony was leaned against the counter next to him, typing something one-handed on a StarkPad, coffee in hand, and Harley was one-handedly making a huge stack of Harley-Keener-Blueberry-Pancakes, the only thing that had kept Peter going through all of college. Harley was also on that list.

The door shut behind Peter, and all three men looked up to Peter. Tony hadn’t shaved, and was sporting a stubble where he usually kept clean (around the goatee). Steve had on a plain white shirt, which meant he was staying for at least the day, no work, unless the Avengers were called into action. And Harley was holding an ice pack to his cheek.

“What the fuck did you do?” Peter said to Harley, because he knew it would’ve been something stupid.

“Language,” Tony sighed, and Steve nudged him with a smile.

“Got beat up so we would match,” Harley shrugged, holding his free arm out like he would accept a hug.

Peter crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow.

“Fine,” Harley said, arm dropping. “I had left my phone at your place yesterday when I had come over to watch the game with you. I went back to get it this morning, and Jamie answered, saying you were ‘out’. I thought that was suspicious as hell, especially when I had two missed messages from you from three in the morning. So, as any normal person would do, I listened to them before leaving to make sure he didn’t murder you or something.”

Harley stopped, and finally looked a bit ashamed.

“I didn’t even know I was doing it. When the second message ended, I lost it and attacked him. He…”

Peter stared at Harley. His best friend attacked someone for him. Sure, probably illegal, and super dangerous considering Harley was super tall and much stronger compared to average Jamie.

“He did stuff to you, Peter.” Harley’s voice had dropped, and Steve and Tony shared a look, Tony once again biting his lip. “I couldn’t just leave.”

“So he punched you,” Peter whispered, and before Harley even got his mouth open to respond, Peter rushed forward and grabbed him in a bone-crushing hug, which Harley immediately returned, as Peter sobbed hard and loud into his chest. Steve and Tony jumped up to try and comfort the boy, but Harley waved them back, continuing to rock Peter softly back and forth and whispering nice things in his ear. It took a few minutes, but Peter’s tears slowed then stopped, and he finally was able to step away, looking at the dark spot of tears on Harley’s grey sweatshirt. 

The pancake Harley had been making burnt.

 

\--

 

Tony wanted to press charges, and Steve even agreed to testify that he saw the bruises on both boys clear as day. 

Peter refused. He said that going to court and having the whole world know and debate over whether or not the accusations were real like he had seen thousands before go through wasn’t something he was very fond of. However, a police request to have a restraining order put on Jamie did go through, even making its way to Jamie’s employers once it was leaked. The fact that it was public news Jamie was a bad enough person to have a restraining order from the whole entire Stark family caused him his job, and Peter was completely okay with that.

And, to make things better (or worse) no one let Peter out of their sight. Harley moved into the second bedroom of the new apartment Peter rented (he hated the last one for some specific reasons), and Peter grew used to Harley making pancakes every weekend. He also grew used to the fact that he had a crush on Harley. _Then_ he grew used to waking up in Harley’s bed instead of his every morning.

Closer to Tony and Pepper, and he got to spend more time with them. Lunch breaks with Pepper seemed really annoying when he lived a good walking distance, but now that they were only two blocks away, going to a cafe wasn’t a challenge anymore.

Peter’s work got better, too, after his article about physical and mental abuse against men made the front page of his paper, and Peter got job opportunities from even bigger places. He declined though, as he liked his job a lot.

And Tony. Tony liked being able to look out his lab window and see the very top of Peter’s apartment complex. He liked having his son pop in for breakfasts, and liked him spending the night after they watched movies until three a.m.

They spent three weeks completely redoing Peter’s room. New paint, new shelves, and a new lamp. If you looked close enough, you could still see a small dent in the wall where the phone hit it.

Peter got a new phone, and a new number so Jamie couldn’t contact him. Also a case. One of those expensive ones that can charge your phone portably. This was great the first time his phone ran out of batteries, but Peter never remembered to charge it so that was the only time he used it.

It was a month and a half after that one night, and Peter perked up when he heard a familiar voice.

“Peter?”

He was sitting with Harley on the couch of Tony’s apartment. There was a Christmas party swarming around them; Christmas speakers playing through the ceiling, a fully decorated house, a big display of cookies and pies and crackers on the kitchen counter, Avengers walking around mingling, and even a mix of Peter’s work friends, some of Harleys, and many other people.

“Abby! I am so glad you could make it,” Peter jumped up, causing the arm Harley had around him to fall with a thump. He hugged Abby tightly for a brief second, and turned to Harley. “Har, this is Abby. I met her a while back at a party. Abby this is—”

“I’m his boyfriend, Harley.” Harley stood, and held out a hand with a smile. He was wearing a Christmas sweater that said “bite me” with a picture of a gingerbread man with his leg broken off.

“Oh, hi! I didn’t know Peter was seeing someone after…”

Her voice trailed off, and Harley put an arm around Peter again, pulling him protectively into his side. Jamie used to do that, but to keep Peter there. The first time Harley casually wrapped an arm around Peter’s waist, Peter freaked out and smacked Harley in the nose. They laughed about it, but always were careful to respect Peter’s loose and shaky boundaries. Peter apologized constantly for jumping when Harley laid his head on his shoulder, or for spilling coffee when Harley grabbed his hand. But, as the days passed, Peter seemed to understand that Jamie always touched Peter or held Peter close to do just that; keep him close, as if he was a dog on a leash he couldn’t let run away. Harley did it because he genuinely wanted Peter close, protected from anyone who would hurt him, and because he genuinely loved Peter.

“I’ve known Harley a real long time, actually. Just took some… incidents… for us to get there,” Peter laughed, and Harley smiled down to him in adoration.

“That is very cute. I’m glad you’re happy Peter. You really deserve it.” She then leaned in closer with the boys, worried someone would overhear. “I was talking to Ricky and Sammy after it happened. The two guys who ran the party that day? Sammy said that Jamie was a dick and they haven’t even spoken to him since everything came out about him abusing you. They both feel real bad about letting it happen under their roof.” 

“Oh, stop. There was no way I really knew it was happening, how could they? Tell them to not feel guilty. That wouldn’t be fair at all. It’s really my—”

Peter cut himself at a soft nudge from Harley and a soft look from Abby. 

“The only person who’s fault this is is Jamie. No one else.” 

Harley kissed Peter’s forehead softly.

They talked for a little longer, before she left to mingle with random people at the party, hoping to get to talk with Natasha for a little bit.

It was three a.m. when Peter and Harley said goodbye to Tony and Pepper, each receiving strong hugs from both and a farewell until the next day, technically later that day, which was Christmas Eve.

They walked home, hand and hand.

“You looked really cute in glasses. Did I tell you that?” Harley said, poking them with his pinky finger as they walked slowly, both exhausted.

“You tell me every single day, Har. But I don’t think you said it the entire party,” Peter smiled.

“I have good restraint,” Harley winked, then leaned down and kissed Peter’s forehead. “And you look fucking adorable.”

The city around them was half awake as the first hours of Christmas Eve ticked by, and as they walked slowly back to their apartment Peter couldn’t help but look back at the looming tower, smile, and lean into Harley, where he was safe.

The cut across his nose had scarred, but really lightly. It was barely noticeable anyway, and was completely covered by Peter’s glasses. He didn’t seem to mind it though. Harley always kissed that spot when Peter had his glasses off. It seemed to show that Peter had made it out okay.

Better than okay.


End file.
